To Be a Man
by Rainnboots
Summary: "Becoming a man a man doesn't happen with time or age; it happens when you step up and accept your role as one." A story about Kendall, his father, and what it means to be a man.


**Author's Note:** The only good thing that comes out of waking up at 4:45 AM and laying in bed until 7 is that you have ample amounts of time to think and think and think; that's how this story came about. And fourteen hours later, it's finished. A little fic about Kendall and his dad and what it means to be a man. Sad, but sweet. Hope you guys enjoy! As always, **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**

**Disclaimer: **Any recognizable names and/or places are the property of their respective owners.

**Warnings: **Terminal illness, foretellings of death, very light language.

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><p>Kendall let out a breath, pushing open the hospital door, and peeking his head inside. There was a nurse beside the bed, a clipboad in her hands, checking the various moniters that lined the back wall of the room. She was laughing quietly, the result of one of the many stupid jokes the patient liked to make. At the sound of Kendall's shoes squeaking across the floor, both of the rooms' occupants looked up.<p>

"'Scuse me," the nurse mumbled, hooking her pen through the top look of the clipboard and ducking out of the door.

Kendall let out a breath, stepping fully inside the room

"Well hey there, kid," the man said. His hair was a dull brown, his skin pale, but his eyes were bright, vibrant green. "Been a few days since I've seen you."

Kendall swallowed, looking to his shoes. "Sorry, Dad. Busy with school, and hockey, and stuff."

"Don't worry," said Donald, shaking his head. "I was a junior once, too, you know."

Kendall shrugged off his backpack, dropping it by the foot of the bed then pulling a chair up, sitting down beside it.

"How do you feel?" Kendall asked, looking up at his father. Donald shrugged.

"Good as I can, I s'pose," said Donald. "Back's been sore, though. Doctors say just another side effect from another medication, like everything else."

Kendall nodded, running his palms along his jeans, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek. "So uh, Mom said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Donald shook his head. "We'll get to that later. Your mother tells me you got in to trouble at school the other day," he said "You got in a fight with another teammate?"

"It was stupid," said Kendall, shaking his head.

"How'd it start?"

"Dave wouldn't stop picking on one of the new freshman kids on the team. The kid was too scared to stand up to him, 'cause Dave's an upperclassman, so Dave wouldn't leave him alone. After a while, I don't know, I just... lost my temper," Kendall explained.

"You know how I feel about fighting."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Kendall. "It won't happen again."

Kendall pushed his bangs off his forehead, scratching the back of his neck.

"How's hockey going?" Donald asked. "Aside from fighting with other kids on the team?"

"Good. Some of the guys think I could make captain this year," said Kendall.

"Really?" said Donald, a smile breaking his lips. "That's great, Kendall. You worked hard. You deserve it."

"Thanks," Kendall said, smiling almost sheepishly under his father's praise.

"How's Katie?"

"She's good," said Kendall. "She misses you, though. We all do."

"I miss you guys, too," said Donald.

"Do you know if you're gonna get to come home soon?" said Kendall, eyebrows raised expectantly, his voice almost hopeful.

Donald let out a breath. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. And Kendall, I want you to listen to all of what I have to say before you start talking, alright?" said Donald. Kendall opened his mouth but Donald pressed on. "_Alright?_"

Kendall shut his mouth. "Yes, sir."

Donald took in a breath. "You and your sister both know I'm sick, and have been for a long time. This cancer's been brutal on me, on all of us. It's taken too much of our time, money, and sanity.

"Your mother, the doctors, and I have been going over the tests and MRIs and medications I'm taking and the therapy I'm doing and what life looks like long-term for me, and we realized that long-term isn't so long for me."

Kendall could feel his pulse thrumming against his neck, his throat going dry, his palms beginning to sweat. It was as if his entire being was vibrating uncontrollably, full of a terrible, destructive energy. What was his dad saying?

"Dad—"

"No amount of medications or chemo or surgery is going to get rid of the cancer. I'm not going to get any better, Kendall, and I need you to understand that."

"_Dad,_" Kendall clenched his teeth.

"This weekend, I'll be moved back home, and keep taking medications the medications for pain and nausea, the ones that keep me feeling generally good throughout the day, but I'm stopping chemo and radiation."

"_No!_" Kendall burst, rising from the chair. "Dad, _no!_"

Donald let out a breath, feeling a stab in his chest. "Kendall—"

"You're giving up?"

"Kendall, I told you to let me finish—"

"You're just gonna roll over and _die?_"

"I'm going to spend the last few months I have here in _my_ house with _my_ family!" said Donald, feeling his anger growing.

"You always said that part of being man is knowing what's worth fighting for!" said Kendall, ignoring his father's words. "We're just not worth it anymore, is that it?"

"Dammit, Kendall, that's not what I'm saying! I'm thinking about your future and how to provide for all of you when I'm gone!" said Donald. "I'm trying to make sure that you and your mother and your sister have enough money for everything you need and most of what you want, to help you and your sister go to college if you choose to, to keep all of you in a nice house in a nice neighborhood so you can be safe!"

"I don't care about any of that! I don't care about going off to college or playing hockey or living in a nice house or a nice neighborhood. _I don't care!_ I'll sleep in a cardboard box if I have to, I don't _care,_ I just want you there with me!"

Kendall grabbed the pitcher sitting at the table at the foot of the bed and hurled it at the wall, the top exploding off on impact, a flurry of small ice chips spilling all over the floor. Kendall turned his back on his father, gripping his hair, angry tears filling his eyes.

"Kendall, come here, please."

"I don't want to," Kendall mumbled, sounding very much to his own ears like a four year old.

"Kendall," Donald repeated, his voice quiet and stern. "Come here, please."

Kendall wiped his eyes, keeping his head down, determined to stand his ground. He didn't move again until he heard the sheets rustling behind him, a grunt of pain.

Donald had sat himself up in the bed, kicked off the covers, one of his legs dangling off the side of the mattress.

"Dad, what're you doing?" said Kendall, feeling a leap of panic in his chest.

"My son's upset," said Donald. "I'm going to go comfort him."

"Dad, get back in bed," said Kendall, moving to his father and trying to push him back against the mattress. "Dad, come on, that beeping thing is getting louder. The nurse is gonna have to come in. I'll stay by the bed, I promise, just lay back down, _please_."

Donald sighed, allowing the hand Kendall had on his chest to push him back down, spreading the blanket back over his father's lap. Kendall sat down, setting his elbows on the mattress, tangling his fingers in his hair again. Donald gently tugged at his wrist, moving Kendall's hand to the bed.

"You used to do that when you were a kid," said Donald, "pull at your hair like that when you were mad. Your mom had to buzz it all off one summer, it got so bad. You remember that?"

"I hated not having hair."

Donald laughed and Kendall cracked a smile, pulling down his sleeve and wiping his nose with it. Donald reached out, setting his hand on the side of Kendall's face, and Kendall closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"I'm so proud of the son I raised."

Kendall dropped his head down into his arms and let out a loud, harsh sob. Of all the things he did, in school, in sports, with his family and his friends, and of all the compliments he'd recieved, nothing brought him as much meaning as hearing his father say those words. To know the one man he looked up to most looked at him — _him,_ _Kendall,_ who was too smart-assed and defiant for his own good — and was _proud_ was a feeling beyond comparison.

Kendall cried for two solid minutes; deep, heavy, bone-shaking cries that beat at his chest and tore from his throat. His eyes were red and his head was pounding but he couldn't stop, his father was dying.

Donald kept a hand on his son's head, stroking his hair, staying silent. Kendall never cried. It wasn't good to keep hurt this deep bottled inside; he would wait out the storm, simply standing beside him, because that's what Kendall needed.

"C'mere," Donald said once the crying had died down a little, gesturing upwards with his arms. Kendall stood, bending forward over the bed, resting his forehead down on his father's chest.

"You remember what I've told you being a man is about?"

Kendall sniffed, taking in a harsh breath, his voice shaking as he spoke. "Loving your family, sticking by your friends, always telling the truth, knowing what's worth fighting for—"

"—and recognizing when a battle's been lost," Donald finished. Kendall clenched his hands into fists. "I don't want to see you guys hurting over me anymore."

"You don't think we're gonna hurt when you're gone?"

"I know you will. It hurt when my dad died, it hurt when my grandad died, it hurt when my sister died. But just because something hurts doesn't mean you give up, Kendall," said Donald. "As men we have responsibilities, to our families and to ourselves."

"I can't," Kendall choked. "Dad, I'm not a _man_ yet."

"Becoming a man doesn't happen with time or with age; it happens when you step up and accept your role as one. I need you to step up, now, Kendall."

"But I don't want to," Kendall choked. His chin trembled and out came another fierce wave of cries, snot and tears dripping from his face, soaking into the thin hospital gown his father was wearing. Donald held Kendall tight, rubbing his arm, murmuring in his ear, the way he did when Kendall was young.

"I don't want to put this on you, Kendall, and I wouldn't if I had the choice," said Donald. "But it's your turn now, and you can do it, I know it."

Kendall sucked in a breath, holding it, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt.

"You'll help out your mother?" said Donald.

Kendall nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

"Keep an eye out on Kaite, be a good brother to her?"

"I'll try to."

Donald chuckled, reaching a hand up to Kendall's hair, listening to his painfully hitchy breathing.

"God, I don't know how you got so big," Donald said after a while. "I still remember carrying you up to your room after you'd fallen asleep while we watched the Wild game."

"I miss watching hockey together," said Kendall. "Just you and me, like you we used to."

"Well, I think there's a game on tonight," said Donald. "Stay here and we can watch it together, you and me, just like we used to."

Kendall straightened up, wiping his face on his sleeve, sniffing loudly and smiling.

"The controllers there on the table," said Donald, motioning to the small, mobile table at the foot of his bed. "We only get twenty channels, but I'm sure the game's on one of 'em."

Kendall picked the controller up from the table, quickly surfing across the TV and settling on the hockey game. He turned his chair, plopping down on to it, setting his elbow up on the table. Donald reached over, ruffling Kendall's hair. Kendall smirked, swatting his father's hand away.

"Love you, kid."

"Love you, too, Dad."

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><p>Reviews? Anyone? Anyone? ...Bueller?<p> 


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